


A Far, Far Better Thing - A Shameless Indulgence of Two Writers

by wendymr, Yamx



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005), Torchwood
Genre: Children of Earth Compliant, Fix-It, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Children of Earth (Season 3), The End of Time-Fix It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-03
Updated: 2010-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-21 17:44:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/227881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendymr/pseuds/wendymr, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yamx/pseuds/Yamx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"Doctor? Got the strangest feeling you needed me."</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, completely independently of each other, Yamx and Wendymr had exactly the same thought about one particular element of _The End of Time_ , agreed that it was thoroughly and shamelessly self-indulgent - and decided to write it anyway. With very many thanks to [Dark_aegis](http://dark-aegis.livejournal.com/) and [Kae_nine](http://kae-nine.livejournal.com/) for also indulging us by BRing.

_It is a far, far better thing that I do now, than I have ever done before_  
\- Sydney Carton, in Dickens’ _A Tale of Two Cities_ (1859).

  
 **Chapter 1**

Wilf shakes his head, raising his hands imploringly, as the Doctor steps ever closer to the glass cage. "No! No – no please don't!" Not for him. This wonderful man should not have to die for him. Not for an old fool who was stupid enough to get himself stuck in a box. "Please don't! Please!"

The Doctor's hand is on the door handle of the other side of the cage. He looks at him, his eyes shining with grief and respect, his face set and determined. "Wilfred – it's my honour." He opens the door.

"Doctor?" A new voice asks from the door. Wilfred turns his head. It's a tall bloke in an RAF uniform – though the way he said the Doctor's name sounded American. Wilf squints. Dark hair, blue eyes, a jawline that'd make Donna squeal - somehow the man seems familiar, but he can't place him.

"Doctor," the tall man repeats. "What's going on? Got the strangest feeling that you needed me."

The Doctor's staring at the newcomer. For a split second, his face breaks into a manic grin – but then it falls, and he looks chagrined, distressed. "Captain." He takes a deep breath, swallows. "Jack. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry – but I need you to die for me." He shrugs, helplessly. "Again."

What? Who is this bloke, that the Doctor would sacrifice him so easily? And for him? And… _again_? "No – Doctor, don't…"

The tall man – Jack – walks towards the Doctor, all business, apparently unconcerned by the Doctor's dire verdict. "What do you need me to do?"

The Doctor indicates the other side of the cage. "Step in there, close the door, press the release button."

"Yes, sir." The Captain doesn't hesitate. As he slams the button and the Doctor quickly pulls Wilf out from his side of the box, he asks "By the way – why?"

The Doctor sends him a small sad smile. "Only way to get Wilf out of there in time."

"In time before…?"

There's an ominous humming sound, and the left side of the cage is basked in red hot light.

"The cage is flooded with radiation." The Doctor's voice almost breaks on the last word.

"Fuck," the stranger mumbles, slowly sliding down the wall, his face a grimace of pain. "One of my least favourites."

Wilf stares, unbelieving, as this young, handsome stranger, this man in the prime of his life, dies for him. Dies for him on the Doctor's command. For the first time, he looks upon the man next to him with trepidation.

"What'd you do that for?" He throws his hands up in frustration. "You shouldn't have, not for me! Young lad like him, whole life ahead of him!" Wilf kneels by the side of the cage, puts his hand on the glass over the man's shoulder. "Not for me."

The Doctor is standing rigid, his hands in his pockets, balancing on the balls of his feet. "It wasn't for you. He did it for me. Mind, he'd have done it for you, as well. That's the kind of man he is."

Wilf is still staring at the motionless body. He's feeling sick to his stomach. This isn't right.

The Doctor looks at one of the blinking screens inside the cage. "It'll be a little bit until the radiation is absorbed. His human body can't hold it all. Will be a while until we can get him out." He pulls that little buzzing tool of his from a pocket. "Let me see if I can speed things up, get us in there quicker."

Wilf shakes his head. He feels a hot tear running down his cheek. "Not like it matters now, is it?"

"Oh, it does, Wilf. It really does." The Doctor steps closer to the cage, and begins running his device over the controls in the open side. "I don't want him to be alone when he comes to."

Wilf looks up at the Doctor in disbelief. "Comes to? You mean…" He feels a small spark of hope. "He'll be all right?"

The Doctor's moving around the box quickly, prodding here and poking there. "Well… 'all right' is such a big concept, don't you think? Rarely applies, not to people like Jack and me. But he'll be alive." Something beeps and a few sparks fly from a switchboard, but the Doctor keeps working, completely undeterred. He's focusing on the machinery, not looking at Wilf or the dead body next to him. "You'll like Jack, Wilf. Old soldier, like you. Fought in the Great War. _Both_ Great Wars. Twice!" A flashed grin that can't hide the guilt and pain underneath.

 _Both_ wars? But how can that be possible? He’s far too young even to have fought in the last one. Just who is this Jack? And he’s human? How?

As if the Doctor’s heard his thoughts, he continues, "He's quite something, our Jack. Quite something."

There's a catch in the Doctor's voice that makes Wilf look at him searchingly.

"Wilf… would you do me a favour?" He's still not looking up from the switchboard.

"Of course, sir. Anything, sir." Wilf gets up hurriedly.

Now the Doctor looks at the prone form in the cage, his face full of emotions Wilf can't name. "Tell him I said that, would you?"

"But – Doctor, if he's gonna be all right, can't you tell him yourself?"

"I could. Course. Course I could. But… I just... I'm not good at this type of thing."

Wilf shakes his head. This enigmatic alien may be 906 years old, but sometimes he seems very, very young. "Can't do that, sir. He'll have to hear it from you."

The Doctor's eyes snap up in surprise. He cocks his head, then he nods. "Right you are, Wilfred. Quite right."

*****

Consciousness returns, and with it a sudden, painful rush of air to his lungs. That bit’s always a bastard. But at least the burning pain’s gone. He’s absorbed the radiation.

His head’s resting on something soft, and tentative fingers are combing his hair back from his face. He blinks, and sees a very familiar face bending over him. “Doctor?”

“Hello, Jack.” Immediately, the Doctor moves; he’s still supporting him but that tender caress is gone. “Feeling better?”

“Yeah.” He starts to struggle to his feet, not easy in the confines of the small cage; if he’s not going to get any more of that from the Doctor, there’s little point in remaining on the floor. “Is your friend all right?”

“Yes! Yes. Brilliant! Safe and well.” The Doctor’s standing too, pushing the door open. “Come and meet Wilf, Jack. You’ll like him. Old soldier. Donna’s granddad.”

He follows the Doctor out and turns to greet the grey-haired man waiting for them. “Captain Jack Harkness,” he says, getting in ahead of the Doctor. Instead of offering his hand, he salutes.

“Wilfred Mott, sir. Corporal.” The elderly man salutes in return, posture rigid, eyes facing perfectly forward. For a moment, Jack wonders if it’s possible that Wilf could have been in one of his commands in the Second World War. Unlikely, though. He was using his current name at the time, and he’s well aware that with his looks he’s not forgettable.

He smiles gently. “Stand down, Corporal.” Relaxing his own stance, he adds, “And it’s Jack.”

Wilf nods. “Thank you for what you just did, sir. I told him, I did. Told him to leave me, that he didn’t need to rescue me, but he insisted. I couldn’t stop him. Would’ve been such a waste. He shouldn’t have to die for me.”

The Doctor, standing off to the side, is tugging at his ear, clearly uncomfortable with the conversation – but making no attempt to take part in it. Jack catches his eye and raises one eyebrow. The Doctor’s mouth turns down at the corners.

He frowns. The Doctor’s face is full of cuts and scratches. His suit’s practically in shreds. What the hell’s been going on here?

All he knew is that he had the strangest feeling that he was needed. There he was, in a bar on a planet two galaxies over, and while he was getting so drunk he couldn’t remember his own name he kept hearing a voice in his head, familiar though he couldn’t quite place it, repeating this place, this date, this time. And the Doctor’s name.

Just as well he found parts to repair his Vortex manipulator a couple of months back.

He’ll make the Doctor explain later, before he leaves. For now, though, he’s going to tell the Doctor’s new friend what the Time Lord clearly can’t.

“He’d have done it and been happy to, Wilf. Because that’s the kind of man he is.” Especially when it’s someone the Doctor’s clearly fond of, as he seems to be of this man. Though he’s glad that the Doctor didn’t have to go through with it. Yes, he’d regenerate, but if the old Time Lord legends are correct there aren’t unlimited regenerations. And, besides, he likes this version of the Doctor.

Wilf cocks his head to one side. “Seems to me it’s the kind of man you are too, sir.” Before Jack can answer, the old man turns to the Doctor and raises his eyebrows, his look expectant.

The Doctor’s eyes widen and suddenly he looks more terrified than when he was facing a fleet of Daleks. “I... um...”

“Go on, Doctor.” Wilf gestures with his hand. “You know you can do it.”

The Doctor’s gaze switches to Jack, and he swallows. “Jack... um... yes. Thank you. I... yes, of course I would have been fine, but it was good not to have to... well.” He swallows again, a hand raking awkwardly through the back of his hair.

“Doctor,” Wilf says softly.

“Yes.” The Doctor stares at the floor. “You’re a good man, Jack. Always thought so. Don’t say it often enough. Well. Don’t say it at all, really, do I? I’m...” He gives a strangled swallow, and raises his head. Ancient brown eyes meet his, and Jack feels a shiver run through him. “I’m proud to have you as a friend.”

His jaw almost hits the floor. Now he’s got to swallow, to get rid of the lump in his throat. “I... Doctor, you’ve got to know that I’m honoured that you consider me a friend.”

The Doctor doesn’t reply, but there’s guilt and apology in his eyes. Until, suddenly, he moves, his whole demeanour changing completely. “Anyway! Wilf!” He takes the shorter man by the shoulders. “Time we got you home! Back to Chiswick. Chiswick, Chiswick, Chiswick!”

He starts to steer the old soldier out of this room, whatever it is – and, by the look of it, some kind of major battle’s taken place here. Seems like the Doctor’s lucky to have escaped with the few scratches he’s got.

Jack stays where he is, watching the other two men heading towards the door, unsure whether to follow them. Has he just received his dismissal from the Doctor? Task over, death died to save the Doctor’s life, is he now surplus to requirements once more?

But then the Doctor glances back over his shoulder. “Well, come on, Jack! You don’t want to stay here all day, do you?”

The voice is on the edge of irritated impatience – but there’s something different in the Doctor’s eyes. A silent plea.

He nods once, pulls his coat more securely around him, and follows the two men out of the room.

*****

The TARDIS is only a short walk away, waiting in a temporal pocket a couple of seconds in the future. The whole way there, the Doctor keeps glancing at Jack – his friend, his brilliant friend who's just allowed him to live, to escape the prophecy, to cheat death by taking his suffering upon himself. Part of him wants to hug and kiss the man. Part of him wants to run, run so far away he'll never have to look him in the eyes again.

He notices Wilf watching him, a concerned expression on his face. At one point, he takes the Doctor's elbow, making it look like he needs support for his old knees, but in truth steadying the Doctor.

He should talk to Jack, he knows. The Captain deserves an explanation. Also, he needs to find out what brought him here, and at just the right time. _Got the strangest feeling that you needed me,_ the Captain said. Well, the Doctor doesn’t believe in coincidences and, while he does believe in strange feelings and premonitions, he's convinced there's always a solid reason for those.

But first things first. Chiswick. Getting Wilf home to his family.

As the Doctor summons the TARDIS, Wilf looks at him. "So – are we going to fly through space?"

"Nah. She disappears here, appears right in Chiswick. No need to go to orbit." The Doctor notices a brief flicker of regret on Wilf's face. "Well, don't you want to check on Donna and Sylvia?"

"Well, yes, sir. Of course. It's just… seeing Earth from space earlier… it was… Well, just wish I'd had a bit of time to enjoy it more, you know? When we didn't have to worry about some maniac having turned everyone into…" He shudders.

The Doctor hesitates. He throws a brief glance at Jack over Wilf's shoulder. The Captain's grinning, and moving his head in a _Come on_ gesture. And damn, he's right. Wilf deserves it. They all do. He grins.

"Well, Wilf, how about – after you go and check on your family – you, me and Jack take a little pleasure trip?"

He sees sudden surprise on Jack's face. He didn't think he'd be included. The Doctor winces inwardly. Has he really treated him so badly?

Wilf's eyes are shining with excitement. "Well, sir, that would be… it'd be bloody marvellous!" He laughs, and rubs his hands gleefully. "Me, Corporal Wilfred Mott, space explorer!"

"Well, then – _allons-y_! First stop Chiswick, then… the universe!" He bounds into the TARDIS, ushering Wilf with him. A brief glance over his shoulder to make sure, but yes, Jack is right behind them. As the Doctor enters the coordinates, Jack takes his place at right angles from him and starts making adjustments on the console. The Doctor throws him a startled glance that turns into a proud smile. "Good man."

Seconds later, they materialise. "Go on, Wilf. Still can't risk Donna seeing me – either of us – but you take all the time you need. We'll wait." He smiles, squeezing Wilf's shoulder warmly.

Jack nods respectfully to the old man as he leaves, then turns to the Doctor. "Smooth. I take it you want to talk to me."

Oh, that sounded defensive. Like Jack expects to be attacked, criticised, and put down. And really, why wouldn't he? The Doctor consciously takes a step back, hunches his shoulders and ruffles his hair. It's not confrontation he's after. Jack deserve better than that.

"Jack… I just wanted to know how you got there. At the perfect time to save my life, no less. You said something about a feeling…"

Jack nods. "I was in a bar on Decrinox Twelve, trying to get drunk. And suddenly, I knew I had to leave. Didn't know why, but this voice kept telling me when and where, and that you needed me."

The Doctor pulls his earlobe. Many possible explanations for this – Time Lords, Ood… or someone else entirely. This could be good. Very, very good. Brilliant, in fact. Or it could be bad. So, so bad. And he can only think of one way to find out.

He takes a step towards Jack. Slowly, very slowly, he raises a hand to the Captain's face. "I'd like to look, Jack."

Jack's body stiffens, and it's a visible effort for him not to back away. He says nothing, just glowers at the Doctor.

The Doctor cocks his head. "All right?"

Now Jack looks confused. "You're giving me a choice?"

He winces. Every time Jack says something like this, the way he's treated this man in the past is thrown into stark relief and fills him with shame so deep he almost wishes he had been the one to step into that cage. "I wouldn't force you, Jack. It's your mind. But… please?"

Jack bites his lips. "Yeah." He swallows. "Yeah, okay."

The Doctor touches the contact points. "Close your eyes." He opens the barriers.

 _Pain. That's the first thing that floods his consciousness. Red hot pain, pain so deep the human mind shouldn't be able to contain it. And darkness. So much darkness and cold. He gasps. And it takes all his control to keep the connection open._

 _Slowly, he begins to sort through the onslaught. He's trying to respect Jack's privacy, but the emotional turmoil in the Captain's mind forces him to sort through memories that have nothing to do with Decrinox Twelve, but are closely linked to the ever-present pain. The Doctor has to fight down a sob. He knew about the events that made Jack leave Earth – a fixed point he'd been forced to let occur, much as he wanted to come and help – but seeing it all through Jack's mind is excruciating. Unbearable._

 _No more than he deserves._

 _He finally finds the memories of the last two days. Hears the voice, weaving through Jack’s mind like spun gold. He gathers the threads, follows them deeper and deeper into Jack's mind – and stands in awe at what he finds. Surprised, humbled, overwhelmed, he breaks the mental connection._

The Doctor stares at Jack, his mouth slightly open, looking for words to explain. But Jack seems to read something else in his eyes. With an annoyed eyeroll and a sigh, he extends his left wrist. "Yeah, I know."

The Doctor blinks, confused. "Wh – what?"

"You saw my memories. Saw that I fixed it. So now you're going to disable it again. Despite the fact that this was what brought me here in time to…" His voice trails off. "Get on with it, then."

The Doctor follows Jack's gaze, and finally understands. The Vortex manipulator. The device that allowed Jack to get off Satellite Five after he'd stranded him there. That brought them back from Malcassiro. That enabled Jack to come and help him during the Dalek invasion. A _space hopper_ , he once called it. And, even though Jack's only ever used it for the very best of purposes – more than he can say for himself and his TARDIS, after Bowie Base One – he's disabled it time and time again. Must have been like a slap in the face for Jack. An _I don't trust you with this,_ from an unjust and undeserving parent.

He shakes his head. "I'm sorry. I never should have. Never will again. In fact…" He briefly runs the sonic screwdriver over the device. "It won't burn out on you ever again."

Jack's staring at him, disbelieving. Then he swallows. "Must have been quite something you found in my mind."

“It’s not that. Well.” He swallows. “Not just that, anyway. You... after everything, all I’ve done, all I’ve _not_ done, everything you’ve been through, you just came because I needed you. And you walked right into that cage to die for me without even asking why.” He snorts. “You know why I asked you? Because I was too selfish to regenerate.”

Jack makes a dismissive gesture. “If I’d known that’s what was happening before I got into the room, I’d have shoved you out of the way before you could say a word. But you were going to go in there yourself. You would have, if I hadn’t come in. Right?”

Jack would have done that? But that’s no surprise. He _does_ know this man well enough to know that’s exactly what he would have done without a second’s hesitation. And probably even if he wasn’t immortal; after all, Jack laid down his mortal life for him without question.

Jack deserves to know the full story; why he would willingly have died to save Wilfred Mott. “That old man – Wilf. I couldn’t let him die.” His fingers curl around the edge of the console. “Aside from the fact that he’s brilliant, absolutely brilliant... he’s Donna’s granddad. I’ve taken too much from her already. How could I...” His voice cracks, and he stares down at the console.

“Anyway.” Composure regained, he looks across at Jack again. “What did I see in your head? Oh, lots of stuff. You know about some of it – and we need to talk about that. Need to explain why I didn’t come. Fixed point,” he adds, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Really, really hate those. There was nothing I could do, Jack. Nothing. And... I’m a coward. Stayed away rather than come and see if you were all right.”

It’s Jack’s turn to look away. “Thought it must have been something like that.”

Really? Or is Jack just saying that, covering up the fact that he felt betrayed? But he didn’t see anything of himself in Jack’s memories of that event, the memories that are so raw, so brutally painful that they leapt out at him even though he was trying to confine himself to that one piece of information.

“Anyway,” he says again – he really must widen his vocabulary. “You want to know what told you to come here? Or who, rather.”

Jack nods, his eyes bright and glassy.

“Rose.”

Jack gasps audibly at the name. “How? She’s... didn’t I hear you left her and the other you in the parallel universe?”

“Not that Rose.” He starts to pace; easier to talk that way. “Do you remember I told you what she did on Satellite Five? With the Time Vortex? It gave her the kind of power that no-one should have. The kind of power I hope no-one will have ever again.” He tugs on his ear. “It was Rose. She wasn’t going to take over the universe, or destroy planets, or anything like that. She just wanted the people she...” His throat’s constricted suddenly. “The people she loved safe. So she saved me, and then saved you. And she told me... _I can see everything... all that is, all that was, all that ever could be._ She sent messages – to herself, to come back to me. Into her past, but into her future as well – Bad Wolf Bay in Norway,” he muses aloud. And, of course, on Shan Shen. “And she sent a message to you.”

“So that I’d come and save your life.” Jack’s rubbing his palms over his face now.

“Yep.” That would be Rose, wouldn’t it? Though why she didn’t do anything to help Jack against the 456...

Unless...

“So that we could save each other,” he finishes aloud, slowly, as realisation dawns. Because, if Jack hadn’t appeared today, when would he have thought to do something for the Captain? And what would he have done? Not talked to him, no; he knows himself too well to pretend he would. Some gesture, a token, a signal, perhaps, that he knew what Jack had been through and wanted to make sure he was all right, but nothing that actually made a _difference_.

“Save each... what do you mean?” Jack frowns, staring at him again.

And right at that moment there are four knocks on the TARDIS door.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Doctor? Got the strangest feeling you needed me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CO-AUTHORED with [Wendymr](http://wendymr.livejournal.com/).

The Doctor blanches, his face the picture of terror. “It can’t be. It _can’t_ be! I thought...” He scrubs his battered face. “No. Not again.”

“Doctor?” Concerned, he walks around the console to where the Doctor’s standing, still as a statue. “What’s wrong? It’s only Wilf.”

“That’s who it was last time.” The Doctor almost spits out the words. “Only Wilf. Knocking four times.”

“I don’t get it.” He extends a hand, hesitates, then just goes for broke and lays it on the Doctor’s shoulder. “Knocking four times?”

The Doctor seems to relax into his grip. “It was a prophecy. _He will knock four times._ And then I die.” The Time Lord turns, and fearful brown eyes meet his. “Wilf was in the cage. He knocked to ask me to let him out. Four times. Four. Just like he did just now.”

The four knocks sound again.

“You didn’t die then,” Jack says, keeping his voice gentle, reassuring. “And, as long as I’m here to stop it, you won’t now.”

Again, the Doctor scrubs his face. “You shouldn’t have to. I shouldn’t have asked you this time. It’s not as if I don’t know dying hurts.”

He shrugs. “I come back. With the same face, too. And there’s no limit on how many times I can do it. It’s no big deal.”

“It is a big deal. Besides, with Gallifrey gone-” And gone again, now, locked away permanently. “-there’s nothing to say there’s any limit on my regenerations. Changing my face? Done it before. I’m just... getting a bit vain in my old age, Jack.”

Abruptly, the Doctor moves away from him, marching towards the door, and he flings it open, grinning wildly as if nothing was wrong at all. “Come in, Wilf. Everything all right? Donna okay? Sylvia not on the warpath for once?”

The old man walks inside, a little stiffly. Though, Jack supposes, if he’s been dragged along on one of the Doctor’s adventures, he’s probably had one hell of a day. They probably should have suggested that he get a good night’s sleep and they’d pick him up in the morning.

“Oh, Sylvia’s fine. Said to say hello – and thank you.” Wilf’s smile is just a little impish, and Jack finds himself wondering what the Doctor’s history is with this Sylvia. Wilf glances up towards him. “My daughter, that is. Sylvia. Donna’s mother.”

“Ah.” He glances at the Doctor and grins. “Always the mothers, huh?”

The Doctor’s smile in return is clearly faked. He’s really rattled still. He moves, at his most manic, and reaches the console in three bounds, starting the engines to dematerialise. Through old habit, Jack joins him at the controls.

“And Donna’s just fine. Woke up just before I went inside, she did. Sylvia said she heard the TARDIS arrive, and that’s when Donna opened her eyes. Must’ve heard it in her subconscious. Maybe that’s how she knew it was safe?” Wilf frowns at the Doctor. “You did say you’d left her with a defence mechanism. What was that all about?”

The Doctor looks up from the controls, suddenly seeming nothing short of chuffed. No-one would ever know that barely two minutes before he’d been terrified for his life. For the sake of the Doctor’s sanity, Jack’s going to have to get to the bottom of this prophecy thing.

"Wellllll… it's nothing really. Hardly worth mentioning." The Doctor pulls out his glasses and puts them on, adjusting them rather more than is probably necessary. "Just a little trick I embedded when I… wiped her mind." He flinches at that. Good. Jack would be worried if that memory wasn't still painful to the Time Lord.

"I thought if her memories were ever triggered, it would probably be because she's under pressure. Some kind of danger. So…" He flashes Wilf one of his manic grins. "I gave her a little release valve. If too much pressure builds up, it's all channelled outward in a wave of temporal static." He describes an expansive cycle with his hands. "Kills two birds with one stone, that – the sudden drop in energy puts Donna to sleep and erases her short-term memory to put the memories back where they belong. And the outgoing charge packs quite some punch. Would confuse and distract most attackers. Of course-" He grins, looking very pleased indeed. "It's especially effective against time-sensitive creatures. Like Time Lords. That's why it completely knocked out the Master. All the Masters in a two-mile radius, in fact."

 _The Master?_ Jack gasps. Without thought, he abandons the instruments and grabs the Doctor by the shoulders, almost shaking the Time Lord. "He's back?" He feels cold panic take hold of him as memories of the Valiant flood his mind. Torture, pain, endless hunger and thirst, uncountable deaths – and the never-ending worry about his friends, his team, the Doctor. He's holding on to the Doctor for support as much as emphasis. " _The Master?_ And did you just use a plural?"

The Doctor flips a couple of switches, letting the TARDIS float in the Vortex, then takes Jack by the upper arms. "He's gone. It's taken care of." His eyes are dark, alien and powerful. Right now, Jack finds that incredibly reassuring. He takes a deep, steadying breath.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"You were sure last time." The Doctor had cried over the loss. Lit a pyre. Never once mentioned that this might not be the end.

The Doctor's eyes don't waver. "I'm right this time."

"I saw it happen, sir," Wilf interjects. "That maniac got sucked back right into hell. Him and the other Time Lords."

Jack's eyes snap back to the Doctor. "The _other_ Time Lords?"

The Doctor sighs, and, in a gesture far more avuncular than commanding, takes Jack by the shoulders, turns him around, and leads him towards the door to the TARDIS interior. "Come on, then Jack. Long story. We could all do with a nice cuppa, anyway. And I suppose Wilf should hear the full story. Only fair to know why you almost died, eh?"

"But-"

"Jack." The Doctor turns to him, squeezing his shoulder. "I will explain. For once, I promise I'll explain everything. But let's do it in the kitchen, with some tea and sandwiches, eh?" He indicated Wilf with a slight nod of the head. Right. The old man is looking exhausted, and who knows when they all last had a chance to eat. Come to think of it, he himself hasn't had anything since before he left Decrinox Twelve – and bar-nuts and pretzels hardly constitute a proper meal. With a nod, he lets the Doctor lead him to the kitchen.

*****

Jack still seems unconvinced when the Doctor finishes his story. Wilf doesn’t blame him – with everything that happens around the Doctor, it's hard to be sure what's what. He reaches for another sandwich. Blimey, it's good to have a sit-down and some food. And, too, to have all the unanswered questions in his head resolved. Nasty, manipulative lot, those Time Lords. Amazing that the Doctor’s the good man he is, being brought up among that lot. Not surprising he says he never fitted in.

"So." The Captain addresses the Time Lord, challenge in his eyes. "What you're saying is that you know the Master – and the other Time Lords – won't be back because they're in the Time War, which is time-locked?"

The Doctor nods.

“So they were trapped before, and they managed to get out once. Why wouldn’t they be able to do it again?”

Wilf looks up sharply. He doesn’t understand all this time travel stuff – makes his head spin, it does – but this makes sense. "He's got a point there, sir, meaning no disrespect…" he mumbles quietly.

The Doctor looks back and forth between them. Finally, he nods. "All right. Point. I can't promise it won't happen again. It should be impossible, but then…" He shrugs, suddenly grinning at Jack impishly. "The impossible has a tendency to turn up in my vicinity and stop for tea."

That makes Jack smile. "Right. But you're as sure as you can be?"

The Doctor nods. "I really don't see how they could create another link. No one could pull a stunt like this twice. Not even Rassilon."

"Rassilon? That the fellow with the glove and the staff?" Wilf asks.

The Doctor nods. "I can't believe they woke him up. I was against it at the time. I knew this could never end well. And just look what happened…" His voice trails off and he shakes his head, his eyes darkening. "My people went crazy in the last days. Always had the potential. Live too long, too much power. The Master… he was just the first. But I always knew it could happen to all of them." He's holding on to the edge of the table, his knuckles white, not looking at them. "Any of us."

Jack reaches over, covering the Doctor's hand with his. "It'd never happen to you, Doctor. You're better than that."

The Doctor laughs, bitter, his face a mask of disgust. "Oh, but it already did, Jack. It already did…"

Jack cocks his head, looking at the Doctor in a way that suddenly makes him seem almost as old as the alien. "I'm listening," he says, his voice an odd mixture of comfort, encouragement, and… challenge?

The Doctor sighs, ruffling the hair on the back of his head. Then he looks up, straight at Jack. “Another long story. But not one for now."

A look passes between the two of them, and he notices the Doctor’s gaze slide briefly to him and then away again. Right. Not something the bloke wants to talk about in front of him. Not a problem, that. “Look, I can go, leave you two to talk in peace-”

“No.” The Doctor’s pushing back his chair, getting to his feet. “Promised you a trip, Wilf, and I meant it.”

Wilf stands, but in the same moment catches Jack’s eye, silently asking the Captain not to let this drop. Jack meets his gaze and nods once, barely perceptible. A promise from one soldier to another; that’s good enough for him.

If Wilf had to guess, he’d say this has to be what the Doctor mentioned in the café on Christmas Eve. The thing he did that was wrong. Obvious to a blind man that there was a lot more to it, and that the Doctor hasn’t forgiven himself for it. That’s the trouble with wars, no matter what kind they are: so easy to make a mistake in the heat of the moment, and far harder to come to terms with the consequences.

Donna was right. The Doctor really does need somebody, and for the Time Lord’s sake he hopes that Jack’s willing to be that person.

*****

Right, then. A trip to remember for Wilfred Mott, brilliant human being, a man he’d be truly proud to call father had fate chosen to arrange things that way. A cruise through the Milky Way, quick trip around Saturn to see the rings at close quarters, perhaps a close-up of an asteroid field. And then the final highlight: Wilf’s never going to forget the day he walked on the surface of another planet.

Jack’s silent as they fly and he tells Wilf where they’re going first, but he’s conscious of the Captain’s gaze on him, concerned and determined. Jack’s going to demand answers later – but that’s all right. He’s already decided to tell him about Bowie Base One; after all, if anyone can understand the temptation to interfere in established events, to _control_ time properly for once instead of being its slave, Jack will. And, given Jack’s got a working Vortex manipulator again, he’d bet anything the Captain’s continually fighting to resist the aching temptation to go back and alter the events that sent him running from Torchwood.

Which, of course, is something else he needs to talk to Jack about. He’s already promised his friend that they will. Should have done it long ago. If he’d really been the kind of friend he should have been to Jack, he’d have gone to find the man as soon as it was all over.

They’re at the first stop. With a flip of a couple of switches, he sets the TARDIS to drift gently, then leaves the console to walk to the doors. “Ready for this, Wilf?”

The old man comes to stand behind him, awed anticipation in his eyes. He grins; oh, this is always the best part of travelling with a companion. “One... two... three...” With a flourish, he pulls both doors open.

Outside, the sky is a panorama of colour against the inky blackness of space. They’re far enough away so that they can see the full effect of the spiral and its galactic centre, and it’s a beautiful sight. With more time, he could take Wilf to see even more stunning spiral galaxies, of course, but this is the one Wilf will have studied through his telescope.

Wilf gasps, and almost staggers. He grasps his arm. “Steady. You won’t fall out, you know. The TARDIS’s force-field will keep you inside, so you can get as close to the doors as you like.”

He keeps up a running commentary, pointing to particular stars, providing history and scientific facts – some of which Wilf’s aware of, some of which are new to him – as they drift along. Oh, this was definitely worth doing. Should have thought of it himself, shouldn’t he?

An hour or so later, he again turns the TARDIS into a viewing platform above Saturn, and a third time close to the Horsehead Nebula in the Orion constellation. Wilf’s sitting on the floor by the door at this stage, and the awed look is still on his face.

“Will you look at that. Will you just look at that.” He’s pointing outside with a shaking hand. “The Horsehead Nebula. Me, seeing that right up close – I can’t even believe it.” He looks around at the Doctor, standing leaning against the open door. “They took photos, you know, with the Hubble Telescope. I thought they were the best thing I’d ever get to see in my lifetime, but this... I’ll never forget this, Doctor, never. You’ve made an old man very happy.”

A fond smile tugs at his lips. “So have you, Wilfred; so have you.”

Jack’s come to join them. “By the fifty-first century, Wilf, there are pleasure cruises from Earth around Orion’s Belt and half a dozen other famous nebulae. The human race never loses the joy of discovery.”

Wilf pushes himself to his feet. “That where you’re from, sir?”

Jack’s smile is rueful. “What gave it away?”

Wilf shrugs. “When you know the Doctor, you learn to expect anything.” He turns back to the scenery outside the doors. “Though I didn’t expect this. I’m the luckiest man alive, I am.” His hand rests against the door, fingers curling in momentary tension. “Lucky to be alive, thanks to-”

Jack lays a hand on his shoulder. “Not another word.”

To divert the conversation, the Doctor says, “Where next, Wilf? One last stop. Pick a planet.”

“Oh. Oh, my.” Wilf falls silent for several seconds. “You know, I study all of them, as many as I can see through my telescope, but I never imagined... Can we go to Mars?”

A chill runs through him. _Mars_. “Not...” He looks away, conscious that Jack’s already giving him a sharp look. “Not much to see there. Pick somewhere else.”

“Of course, sir. Whatever you want.” There’s an undertone to Wilf’s voice that suggests he’s guessed there’s more to it. “How about Venus? Can we land there? I mean, what about breathing and so on?”

“We’ll need space suits.” He shivers again at the unwanted memory. But he promised Wilf, and he’s going to keep that promise. Yes, of course, he could take Wilf somewhere in another galaxy, or another part of the universe altogether, where they can breathe oxygen and walk around as if they were on Earth. But it won’t be the same as walking on the surface of a planet Wilf can see every clear night from his allotment.

In the TARDIS storeroom, he avoids the Sanctuary Base spacesuit he wore on Mars. Should burn that one, really. Brought disaster both times he used it. Instead, he finds three 82nd century spacesuits, with no identifying information, that are able to protect them from the extreme surface temperature and the atmospheric density of Venus. Well, Wilf is old – they probably shouldn't stay out more than half an hour even with these. But that'll be plenty of time to give Wilf an experience he’ll never forget. He brings them out. Wilf can have his walk on Venus, and then he’s going home.

*****

The old soldier’s gone back inside his semi-detached house, still waving and smiling at memories he’ll cherish for the rest of his life, and the Doctor’s closing the TARDIS door. Jack feels himself stiffening, waiting for what comes next.

Explanations were promised – and so, also, was a conversation about the 456. He imagines he’s looking forward to that about as much as the Doctor is to talking about whatever it was that happened to him. Something that made him behave like the Master... oh, that doesn’t sound at all good.

Though this is the Doctor, the expert at making promises he never intends to keep. It wouldn’t surprise Jack one bit if, instead, he gets dropped off somewhere with a casual goodbye and _thanks for dying for me_.

He’d accept it, too, but for one thing. _He will knock four times. And then I die_. The Doctor’s still on edge about that. Doesn’t take a genius to work that out; he saw the way the guy looked at Wilf from time to time when the old man was looking the other way. Despite the fondness the Doctor clearly feels for Donna Noble’s granddad, there was fear and resignation in his eyes.

The Doctor still thinks he’s going to die.

They take the TARDIS back into the Vortex, still without a word. The Doctor's avoiding his gaze. This is not good. He's going to be thrown out, he just knows it. But he can't leave the Doctor like this. He just can't. He clears his throat, trying to find the right words to start this conversation.

The Doctor looks at him. Suddenly he frowns, and cocks his head, puzzled. Then he sighs. "Jack. Don't look at me like that."

"Like…?"

"Like you're a dog I'm about to kick, and you can't decide whether to cringe or tear a piece out of my calf."

Oh. Fair enough. That is probably how he looked, mentally steeling himself for a confrontation with the man he instinctively wants to obey. "I just-"

"My fault, of course. No wonder, given the way I've treated you." He takes off his glasses and stuffs them in a pocket. "But I promised you an explanation, and an explanation you'll get – whether I like it or not. And I promised you a conversation about what happened to you on Earth, and that'll happen, too, whether you like it or not." He's grinning, but his voice is filled with more bravado than enthusiasm. He’s clearly not looking forward to either part of this conversation.

Jack would smile, except he can see there's more behind the Doctor's words. He takes a step closer to the Time Lord. "You're putting your affairs in order."

The Doctor looks up, startled. He opens his mouth to protest. Closes it again. Finally, he simply says "What?" and it's not lost on Jack that suddenly, the Time Lord is the one with the kicked puppy look.

"You still believe in that prophecy. You still think you're going to die."

The Doctor grins, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. "What? No! Nonono!" He starts pacing around the console room, not looking at Jack. "You've got that all wrong, Jack. All wrong. I'm fine. Perfectly fine. All taken care of. I-"

There are four loud knocks, and the Doctor jumps two feet into the air and wheels around with a grimace of terror.

Jack puts down the mallet. "So much for that." The look on the Doctor's face makes him hate himself a little for what he just did, but he knows from long experience that the Doctor is a master of denial. And the only way to get him out of it is cold, brutal force.

The Doctor's shoulders slump, and his eyes dart from left to right. "It's just… Time doesn’t like to be pushed. It pushes back." He turns his gaze on Jack. "I thought the Master would kill me, that the prophecy meant him. I was wrong. Then I thought it meant Rassilon. Again, I was wrong. What if it wasn't Wilf, either? What if it's someone else entirely?"

Jack considers. " _All that is, all that was, all that ever could be_ \- that's what Rose said, right?"

The Doctor nods.

"Then… well, she would have known if there was something else, right? The Bad Wolf would have seen it? And done whatever else was necessary to keep you alive?"

The Doctor looks gobsmacked at first, then a slow grin spreads over his face. "She would have! Of course she would have! Clever Rose, wonderful Rose..." He bounds over to the console and wraps Jack in an unexpected, but not unwelcome, hug. "Brilliant, you are, Captain! Just brilliant! Clever little ape brain, seeing the obvious where I didn't, genius that I call myself."

Jack grins, returning the Doctor’s hug. He's long got used to the Doctor's tendency to wrap compliments up in insults. “I do have some uses.”

“Oh, you do!” the Doctor agrees with enthusiasm. “Jack-of-all-trades, you are. Though I wouldn’t say you’re master of none. You taught me something else today, too. Or, should I say, reminded me.”

“I did?”

The Doctor releases him, much to Jack’s disappointment, and rubs the back of his neck. “Dying’s not so bad. Not for me. I get to live all over again, and, do you know, usually that’s fun. New body, new life, finding out what I look like and whether I’m ginger and what sort of man I am. I’ve been a bit Dylan Thomas lately, all _rage, rage against the dying of the light_. Yes, I admit it, I like this me. No reason why I won’t like the next me as well, though. Oh, doesn’t mean I’m going to rush off and do something reckless, but – well, anyway. If it happens, it happens.”

Jack nods. "True. But, remember," he adds with a smile, "I'm here to protect you now."

The Doctor stiffens. "You shouldn't… I mean, I appreciate… but not… you're not…" He rakes both hands through his hair, taking a deep breath. "That's not why I'd like you to stay."

Jack blinks. Did he just hear that right? "Stay… stay as in travel with you again?"

The Doctor nods hastily. "Of course! Haven't even said that, have I?" He takes a deep breath. "Jack, I'd love it if you stayed. Because you are a good friend. Because you are useful to have around. Because you are fun. And because..." His gaze slides away.

Jack frowns. After all the things the Doctor just, for the first time, admitted so freely, there's still something he can't get out? What could it be? "Because…?"

The Doctor looks at the door, then over to the space suits still hanging on the coat-rack. "Because, Jack – sometimes, I need someone to stop me."

Jack’s eyes widen.

"I… I promised you something, Jack." The Doctor sighs. "Let's go to the kitchen. This is another long story and it needs another pot of tea."

*****

Telling Jack is surprisingly easy. The other man just listens without judgment, though he clearly understands the enormity of what the Doctor did. But he also understands the temptation. Though he never says a word, it's clear in his gaze, the slump of his shoulders, the hand he places on the Doctor's arm.

The Doctor sighs, and pours the last of the tea into his cup, then changes his mind and pushes it across to Jack. "So, that's the story." He looks at him, waiting.

Jack just nods, sipping the tea thoughtfully.

"Aren't you going to say anything?"

"Like what? 'You screwed up'? You already know that. In fact, you get the impact of this far better than anyone else, Time Agency training be damned." He squeezes his arm. "I see what you meant earlier. Needing someone to stop you. I'd be honoured to be that someone. If you're sure I'm qualified."

His eyes widen. "Jack! Of course you are…" Oh. Jack is thinking of the attack on Earth. The creatures he calls the 456, and what he had to do to defeat them. He sighs. "You are. You really are. But we need to talk about what you did to Steven."

Jack almost drops the cup. The Doctor's superior reflexes allow him to catch it.

"Not because I think you were wrong. Just because…" He blows out a breath. "For your own sake, Jack."

Jack shoves his chair back and stands, then begins to pace. He’s thrown his long overcoat over a chair some time ago and, in shirtsleeves and red braces, looks so different from the young, sometimes hot-headed companion he had all those years ago. This is a man who’s lived more years than any human should have to, and suffered more pain than anyone deserves. Most of it avoidable, too, and again the Doctor’s attacked with guilt for his part in Jack’s troubled life.

“You seem to know the facts,” Jack says finally. “There’s nothing more to say. I screwed up. Thought I was invincible, the great Captain Harkness, Director of Torchwood, never met an enemy I couldn’t defeat. And because of my hubris I got Ianto killed. Then I played god and murdered my own grandson, while his mother watched.”

The Doctor stands as well, shoving his hands in his trouser pockets in an attempt to look relaxed. Jack’s exhibiting more than enough tension for both of them.

“It was never going to end well,” he observes, keeping his voice calm. “You were fighting not just the Cor’qiral’n – that’s who they were – but your own side. If they’d brought you in right from the start, there could have been a chance. But they didn’t, and it went from bad to worse.”

He moves closer to Jack, who’s standing now, breathing heavily, staring at something that clearly only he sees. "You could second-guess yourself from here to eternity – just as I could over many, many events. You think I don’t blame myself for Satellite Five and the Daleks? Not just for leaving you behind, but for everyone who died that day – and for failing to prevent it in the first place. Sometimes there are things we could have done differently that might have saved lives. Sometimes, there are no choices at all. Nothing that would change things. Yes, you could have stopped Ianto from following you, but what’s to say that he wouldn’t have got killed some other way? And if another child had been available, would you have spared Steven and used him instead?”

Jack winces.

The Doctor smiles wryly. “I told Jackie – Rose’s mum – once that I’m the one who has to make the decisions no-one else will. That’s been you, Jack, too. I believe you didn’t have a choice. Of course, pointless reminding you that millions of children survived because of your sacrifice – for your daughter, all that matters is that she lost her son.”

“She’ll hate me for the rest of her life,” Jack says, his voice wooden. He stares down at the floor.

He nods. There’s no point pretending it’s not true. “Probably. But would she have loved you if you’d done nothing and Steven had been handed over with all the other children? Because he would have been.”

Jack looks up suddenly, and his eyes are moist. “You sacrificed your people, all of them, to save the universe from Rassilon’s plan.”

His hands fist in his pockets. “And the Daleks, yes.” And, in doing so, he killed the innocent as well as the guilty. A necessary sacrifice, but it doesn’t make it any easier.

“Does it get better?” Jack’s voice is a whisper.

Now, he goes to his friend, taking Jack by the shoulders and pulling him into his arms. Jack comes to him, clinging to him, burying his face in his hair. “I won’t lie to you, Jack. It takes time. There are good days and bad days, and days when you just want to die, or drink yourself into oblivion. And there are days when you look out at the universe and realise that it’s still there, planets still being born, people still living out their lives, because of that decision you made. And then... then, it almost feels worth it.”

“Yeah.” Jack pulls back just far enough to look at the Doctor. “When I said goodbye to Gwen, I couldn’t help thinking... She was pregnant, Doctor. I thought... what if in ten years’ time they’d come back and demanded more kids? At least I’d spared Gwen that. Ianto’s niece and nephew, too – they’re safe because of what I did.”

“Yep.” He holds Jack’s gaze. “Remember that. And learn to forgive yourself.”

“Have you?” Jack countered.

Taken aback, he has to think. And, after a moment, he nods. “Yes. Now. Before, I kept asking myself if there had been another way. If I could have tried harder to convince them not to do it. Then, today, seeing them again, I finally knew there was nothing else I could have done. That I was _right_.” He straightens, pulling himself to his full height. “Yes, I have.”

“Good.” Through the grief that’s still written all over his face, Jack smiles.”I’m glad.”

“One day, you will too. And until then, you can help make the universe a better place. All right?”

A reluctant grin crosses Jack’s face. “Thought Time Lords weren’t supposed to interfere?”

His own grin’s completely genuine. “Ah, but you knew I was never a textbook Time Lord, didn’t you? Did I tell you I failed my exams three times? Only scraped a pass in the end. Besides,” he adds soberly, “I’m the only one left, so I get to make my own rules. _Good_ rules,” he adds. None of that _Time Lord Victorious_ stuff, not again.

“ _We_ get to make the rules,” Jack amends. “Isn’t that why you asked me to stay?”

“True. Or maybe...” Time to lighten the atmosphere. He winks. “Maybe I just fancy you rotten and thought we might as well shack up together, since no-one else would have us.”

“Careful.” Jack leers at him. “I might take you seriously, and then where would you be?”

He quirks one eyebrow. “In bed with you, I expect.” Which, now that he thinks about it, wouldn’t be at all horrible to contemplate. In fact... it sounds really quite brilliant.

*****

The Caldoni warriors close in on them, brandishing spears and slingshots. Jack feels his blood pumping, but it's not fear – it's pure, unadulterated joy at being alive, being here, having adventures, saving planets and getting into trouble with the Doctor. Oh, he's missed this.

The Doctor's hand closes around his and the Time Lord flashes him a manic grin, jerking his chin in the direction of the TARDIS.

"Run!"

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Wendymr](http://wendymr.livejournal.com/) has written [a sequel](http://wendymr.livejournal.com/230435.html) to this.  
> 


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